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The way Thursday mornings go

By Thursday morning The Girlie had been on antibiotics for three days. We'd been waiting on her getting much better very soon - on Monday she'd had infection in both ears, conjunctivitis, wheezing in her lungs and general misery, and so by Thursday I was set on seeing our GP anyway as her cold hadn't eased.

Except, by 4 am on Thursday morning she was struggling to do much apart from coughing and screaming, and so I drove us to the 24-hour clinic - for the third time that week. (First had been on Friday evening when this sh*t started, then again on Monday when it was public holiday and our usual medical practice was closed, and now again on Thursday at 4 am.)

The nurses promptly led us to their assessment area where The Girlie was met with loads of, "Oh you poor little thing..." comments, and within about 20 minutes of arriving their doctor had me on their, "Look, I think it's looking like hospital from here on" talk.

First I suggested to him that I'd drive us home first, and get The Man to then drop us off at the hospital, but when the doctor insisted that I drive straight to hospital ("But where do I park the car?" - "It doesn't matter. Leave it in front of the emergency department if need be. If you get a parking fine it'll get cleared afterwards. Your daughter is ill and needs to get to the hospital."), the seriousness of her coughing and screaming really got to me.

I was driving down Bealey avenue in the almost solitary 5 am traffic, listening to her coughing and wheezing on the back seat, and probably because I hadn't had a good night's sleep in a week and was carrying the end of that strong, strong cold myself, I broke into tears.

Please don't let it be one of those antibiotic-resistant illnesses I've only heard about, I pleaded. I don't want her to have to be in the hospital, and see doctors shake their heads. I don't want her to be seriously ill.

The drive to the hospital took about 5 minutes and upon arriving my cheeks were dry again. I was ready for whatever needed doing.

Within hours most of her mucus had cleared and by about 8 am The Girlie was smiling again. The last consultant to see us told me about children getting very ill - or very well - very quickly and implored that if need be I didn't hesitate to bring us back in.

I left the hospital thanking - I'm not even sure, who - for having both of my children with very robust healths, and crossed my fingers for not having to see the emergency department in a very long time again, and drove home.

By that time I smiled at the way I had arrived at the 24-hour clinic at 4 am that morning and reminded myself of their suggestion that if I didn't feel like driving to call the ambulance.

You see, at the reception they had asked me, "What is your daughter's birth date?" and I promptly answered, "4th of June." - "Oh, so it's her birthday then!"

"Yeah. Wait... Actually: what year is it now? 2015. She's a year old so she must've been born... 2014. Yeah, 4th of June 2014. 2014 is her year of birth."

The man at the reception wasn't very impressed with me. It's probably why, only a little while later, I was reminded that if I didn't feel up for diving, I was welcome to call an ambulance. Tired people make for some shocking driving, apparently =), I was told.

But anyway, it's looking to be easing, finally, this shocking cold. And seeing how little antibiotics have done to help with it, it's probably viral, we've been told.